


the creeping discomfort of realizing you're getting a boner at a family gathering

by Chokopoppo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Asphyxiation, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Bottom Thor (Marvel), Choking, Dream Sex, Frottage, Humiliation, M/M, Restraints, Submission, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 15:58:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chokopoppo/pseuds/Chokopoppo
Summary: Thor's been having some weird dreams lately. Some weirdsexydreams. It's really starting to interfere with his social life. His brother's being a fucking freak about it, too.But honestly, nothing in this universe or the next is going to stop him from nutting, like, atleastonce per chapter.





	the creeping discomfort of realizing you're getting a boner at a family gathering

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone remember how, at the beginning of Smollet, I argued that it was one of the worst things I'd ever written? Well, that was before I wrote this. 
> 
> I think it's time I admit that I'm just horny, like, 90% of the time, and start writing fic that reflects that. So here I introduce _'the creeping discomfort of realizing you're getting a boner at a family gathering'_ , a fic of indefinite length that just focuses on Thor busting, like, a _million_ nuts. It ends either when I get bored of writing smut, which is probably never, or when whatever weird story I've stitched together just needs to end for the sake of my sanity, which is also probably never. Let's hear it for porn, utterly without redeeming social importance!
> 
> Thorki peeps, I apologize for tagging the ship even though it's not in chapter one, but it'll start rearing its head almost immediately, so just hang on tight. Or don't! I am not a beggar.

They’re somewhere dusty, and gritty, and hot. It doesn’t really matter. The environment sort of tapers off, fuzzy around the edges, but that seems normal - his imagination isn’t good enough to flesh out a whole world here or anything, but he can feel the sand scratching against his skin, stuck to him with sweat.

They’ve won a battle, someone fighting for something, protecting whatever against whoever. It doesn’t really matter.

His blood is sticky as it starts to dry in his mouth. He can’t feel pain from the injury, but it’s on his head, probably, oozing slow and easy against his skin. He licks the side of his mouth thoughtlessly, tastes the copper and lighting flowing inside him.

Somewhere to his left, the Captain is removing his helmet, bloodied and glistening with sweat. Without looking directly at him, Thor can see the hard outlines of his figure, where the armor meets flexing fabric or rugged muscle, even as his chest heaves with desperate gasps. 

He smiles, feels saliva and blood on his teeth, every fibre of his being hypersensitive. He likes this dream - the Captain is handsome in a thoroughly Midgardian way, blood vessels too close to the surface of his skin and liable to break under pressure, but all laced over muscles like iron pistons. Fragile and indestructible at the same time, strong enough to keep up and soft enough to be pushed around. And it’s not that Thor _likes_ pushing people around, exactly, it’s just that - sometimes, the muscles in his arms ache from the strain of holding his fists at his sides.

A harsh wind kicks the sand up around them and blusters the cape around his back, and he licks his lips, takes two steps and they’re facing each other. The Captain is smirking up at him, all cocky assurance and clever dark eyes, and Thor grabs him by the front of his collar and drags him into a violent kiss. The blood is fresh on his teeth, and Thor grabs the back of his head to hold him in place as he shoves his way in, fucking his mouth with his tongue. Those desperate, half-choked moans burn between his legs, and distantly, he feels armored hands toying with his hair, scratching comforting patterns behind his ears.

And then they flex, grab him by his hair and pull his head away roughly, sudden and painful. Thor gasps, a groan hitching on his breath, and stumbles backwards. The Captain surges against him, grinding against his hip.

This isn’t how this dream usually goes, Thor thinks distantly, feels the Captain’s stubble against his neck, and cries out as teeth sink into his skin. The Captain - Steve - usually bends malleably in his arms here, to suck his cock or submit against the dirt, moaning protest and desperation as the rough terrain rips scrapes and bruises into his weak skin. He’s caught off-guard, without anywhere to retreat to.

One strong hand, still wrapped in his hair, grabs him by the head and shoves him easily to his knees - in his struggle to get free, he loses purchase in the dirt and falls, the grit pressing into his back. Above him, the Captain is radiant, face contorted in a dark, possessive scowl. Thor finds himself of two minds - on the one hand, his body is burning, his cock swelling with blood and arousal at the hand of this strange, aggressive Captain - on the other, neither his godhood nor royal status will stand for being disrespected. He lashes out at the arm holding his head in place - only to find his strength sapped, his arms shaking in his skin.

“What have you - “ he croaks, breaking off to watch the Captain tug his gloves off with his teeth, lips trembling in the wake of his assurance.

“Submit,” the Captain says, and it’s his voice and not - the timbre is undeniably Steve, but the word has never been his, and the way he says it is all wrong, because Thor’s never thought of him using it, hasn’t devoted his conscious mind to it like he has with what his moans or his pleas or his gasping peak must sound like - but his body shudders just the same. 

“Not without a fight,” he spits, his fingers brushing over the Captain’s thighs, which pin him in on either side of his hips. Armored and solid all the way through.

The Captain smiles, and runs his palms over Thor’s breastplate - and even though his hands should be soft and pliant, and even though his armor is made from Asgardian steel, he can feel every centimeter of that callused skin electrocuting every nerve ending it brushes against. He moans, tries to grab him by the wrist to throw his arms away, but the more he struggles against him, the stronger the hands shoving him against the ground become.

That smirk grows more pronounced the second the Captain’s hands find their mark - with terror, Thor feels too-strong hands wrap around his neck and squeeze. He opens his mouth to protest, but there’s no air, no air, he can’t even gasp and fuck fuck fuck his cock burns, everything burns, his skin is standing on end as his hands slam helplessly against the form trapping him, crushing him against the ground. He tries to shove him away, tries to get purchase against skin, tries to think, but all he has room for is the throbbing arousal shaking his body and the Captain’s dark eyes, perfect lips, smiling, smiling 

His hands release and Thor gasps, coughs, gags on the air he’s forcing back into his lungs, and holy _fuck,_ fuck he needs release right now, just a couple of pumps and he’d be all set, and he grabs at the Captain’s breastplate, tries to get his fist in something. “Fuck,” he gasps, “what did you do to me?”

“I’m giving you what you _need_ ,” Steve says, and it’s comfortingly familiar as he cups Thor’s cheek in his palm. Still raggedly out of breath, he sinks into the gentle touch. “Your responsibilities are too much to hold in your subconscious, too. Bend to me. Submit.”

Before Thor can answer, Steve snatches his hand away and strikes him, fast, across the face, and he yelps in shocked pain. “Stop it - “ he begins, voice gurgling into nothing as those hands seize fast around his neck again. His hips jerk up into the unyielding figure above him, feet scrambling in the dirt desperately as his dick, straining against his tunic, searches for friction like a dog. His vision blurs as sweat and tears bead and catch in his lashes, his eyes rolling back and 

He wheezes as the Captain’s hands let him loose, grabbing him by the shoulders and rolling him facedown in the dirt. Sand and grit catch in his throat, and his arms spasm against the ground, spit and twice-wet blood dribbling over his lips. Strong, curious hands take him by the hips, lifting them up onto his knees, and he moans desperately as he feels the hard bulge of a clothed boner grinding experimentally against his ass. His legs shake like a squalling babe, unable to hold himself up, leaning fully on the Captain’s strength. “Stop,” he manages, panting and groaning, “let me go - let me - let - “

“This is your dream,” Steve says softly, one hand stroking up his back and sending shivers down every bone in Thor’s body. “This is happening because _you_ want it. You can make it stop,” he promises, hands sliding up to his arms and dragging his forearms onto his back, “as long as you beg. As long as you let go.”

“Fuck you,” he gasps, “fuck you.”

“If you want,” the Captain says casually, “but you don’t.” He nudges Thor’s knees further apart, and Thor whimpers as his brutally neglected cock loses even the basest friction - then wails as the Captain thrusts against him, driving his face roughly through the grit. Steve growls, and it’s so different from his usual hitching breath that the shock of it goes straight through Thor’s stomach. As he grinds against his ass, setting a fast and unforgiving tempo, his voice cracks and breaks, moaning and panting low, and Thor thinks he’s going to lose his fucking mind, like he’s going blow his load with or without anything to come against - 

The hands holding his arms to his back release him, suddenly, and he pulls away, trying to grab at the ground - 

Drag him upright, his back against the Captain’s chest, palms rough on his skin and he’s naked, now, and it doesn’t even register that the hands touching him are back in their gloves, rough and unyielding, grabbing at his throat - his cock has never been this red, dripping wet with desperate precum and painfully untouched - 

“Beg me,” Steve whispers in his ear and he _breaks_ with his need - 

“Please - ghh - fuck, oh - “ _please fucking touch me please let me come please get your hands on me_ and he can feel fingers wrapping around his throat, just one hand, not enough pressure to choke him completely, he can just barely wheeze, just barely groan, a whisper pale sound as that second hand reaches down and 

_Please fuck oh fuck oh FUCK oh_ “yes, yes, need it, need - “ 

The pressure on his throat releases just as he _screams_ unbelievably red hot and curves backwards, body arching, electricity blowing out of every pore and lighting his skin on fire in an unbelievable ecstasy, painting his chest with cum - 

Alone, in his bed, sweating and shaking uncontrollably in the dark of the night, cock still twitching from spending itself in his trousers. He gasps sweet air in and out, and presses the palm of his hand over his eyes.

Which is more or less how it starts.


End file.
